


Insomnia

by theMightyPen



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: ALL THE FRIENDSHIPS, Alternate Universe, Bucky has nicknames for everyone, F/M, Female Friendship, Gen, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, let's be real you know someone is always awake, not really sure where this falls in the timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 06:05:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3885202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theMightyPen/pseuds/theMightyPen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Insomnia (noun): habitual sleeplessness; the inability to sleep</p><p>In the Avengers' Tower, it's pretty much a given that at any hour of the night, someone is bound to be awake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insomnia

**Author's Note:**

> note: I have not seen Age of Ultron yet, so please excuse any inconsistencies with that bit of canon. Either way, this is probably set after AOU, if not in an entirely different timeline, given some of the pairings. 
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

 

They all have their own en-suite kitchens, of course, but there’s something to be said for unwinding after a long day in the presence of friends, or at the very least, people who can keep enough noise going to keep any of them from dwelling too deeply on their own thoughts.

So the kitchen and common area become a hub of activity at night; someone always cooks or orders dinner, the TV generally tuned to some movie off of Steve and Bucky’s lists, a pile of warm and fuzzy blanket stacked on the couch, ready to be used.

Eventually everyone trickles off; some to bed, some back to the lab, and some to places unknown. The world does not afford them privacy, but that’s something they can give each other. It’s certainly something they’ve earned.

However, considering the amount of insomniacs amongst them, it’s hardly unusual for the lights to be turned on around 2 or 3 in the morning, or for the smell of coffee to be lingering by the time the earliest early bird (usually Sam or Steve) has made it to the kitchen for breakfast the following morning.

Bucky’s the newest addition to their strange, varied group; amongst superheroes, demi-gods, super-assassins, and scientific wonder-children, he doesn’t feel as out of place as he does walking down the street. He’ll never be who he was, before the serum and the fall and everything else, but he likes to think he’s not the Winter Soldier anymore either.

The Winter Soldier certainly never had a problem sleeping the way Bucky does, nor would the Winter Soldier have wandered around the Avenger’s Tower in nothing but boxers and a tank top.

 _Bucky_ , however, has no problem doing so.

He can’t sleep--again--seeing as how his damned brain doesn’t seem to want to shut itself off, and he vaguely remembers his Ma making him warm milk whenever he couldn’t fall asleep as a kid, and hopes the same trick will work now.

The elevator ride to the common space is quick and familiar, and Bucky is unsurprised to see that someone’s beaten him there; someone’s always awake here, whether from nightmares or latent adrenaline rushes.

So when he finds Dr. Betty Ross perched on the counter, grumbling about how ironic it was that the cabinets were made for giants when the man who designed them was such a Hobbit, Bucky only chuckles.

“Need help, doc?” He asks, smirk growing when she jumps.

She looks over her shoulder sharply at him, frowning. “No.”

Bucky’s never met _anyone_ more stubborn than Steve.

Betty is a close second.

Snorting, he pulls up one of the counter stools, content to watch her struggle to reach the sugar on the top shelf. “If you say so, doc.”

She nods primly and he settles in, taking in her worn t-shirt that looks three sizes too big for her, the green striped shorts, and the slippers dangling from her feet. A closer inspection reveals them to be bears and he snorts another laugh just as Betty gives a triumphant, “Hah!” as she finally succeeds in grabbing the sugar.

Climbing down from the counter carefully, she sets the sugar down before turning green eyes on him. “You’re up late.”

“I could say the same to you.” He fires back, almost reflexively. “Brain working on over-drive?”

She shrugs, pulling the tea-kettle out from under the oven. “Just not sleepy yet.”

Which is really code for a certain scientist not having emerged from the lab, but Bucky won’t press it. He knows the story there, and while he likes to tease, he knows good and well what lines to cross and which ones not to. Tony Stark, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to be aware of that limit.

Tony’s a lot like Howard and yet nothing like him, Bucky thinks, which is probably why he’s not the younger Stark’s biggest fan.

It takes Betty calling his name four times to snap him out of his reverie and he offers her a lazy smile. “Sorry, just thinkin’ about something. What’d you say?”

“I asked if you wanted tea.” Betty says, fixing him with an inquisitive look. “It helps me sleep, sometimes.”

“I was actually thinking more along the lines of warm milk.” He answers. “My Ma used to make it in our one beat up pot…” He squints, trying to remember more details. “...with, uh, cinnamon, I think. And something else, somethin’ sweet?”

“Sugar and nutmeg, I’d imagine.” Betty says, smiling. “My best friend growing up, her mother was from Brooklyn and she’d make the same thing for us.”

“Nutmeg.” Bucky repeats. He can remember the flavor of the milk, the way the cup warmed his hands, but not his mother’s face. “Sure.”

Betty seems to sense his turn to melancholy and she reaches over to give his hand a squeeze before setting a pot beside the tea-kettle on the stove. Most people besides Steve and Darcy don’t touch Bucky much, Natasha occasionally, but he supposes when the love of your life could turn into a giant green rage monster if his heart rate gets too high, former super assassins aren’t something to be afraid of.

“Will you grab the nutmeg for me?” Betty asks, pulling him out of his thoughts again. “I’d climb back on the counter, but--”

“No sense in you cracking your head open trying to get some stupid spices, doc.” He says, getting up and stretching to pluck the tiny jar from the top shelf. “You’d think Stark would put things on shelves he could actually reach.”

She snorts at that, shooing him back to his seat before pulling the milk from the refrigerator. “I doubt Tony even knows how to cook. My money’s on Pepper trying to keep things organized, forgetting that there are some of us on the shorter end of the spectrum who know how to do something other than heat up mac and cheese in the microwave.”

He chuckles at that. “In this place, I’m sure the kid has a robot to do even that for him.”

Betty giggles, shaking her head. “For a super genius, he is pretty helpless. Just last week, I heard Jane explaining the concept of a laundromat to him. I could have sworn she was talking to Thor, but then I heard Tony gasping about how he couldn’t believe people use spare change to wash a pair of underwear.’”

They both lapse into quiet amusement, the only noise being the slow bubbling of the milk, and the occasional clicking of the cooktop as it heats the tea kettle.

Clint appears at some point during the interval, melting out of the darkness in the far corner. “Evening, all.”

“Jesus, Barton, do you ever sleep?” Bucky asks.

Clint shrugs, settling down onto the stool next to his. “What are we making?”

“Oolong tea and milk.” Betty says, seemingly unfazed by his sudden appearance. “Pick your poison.”

“Aw, I love tea.” Clint says, stretching a little. “You sure you don’t mind, Betty?”

She fixes him with a look and Bucky muffles a laugh; for all that Betty Ross looks like a fairy tale princess, she’s mastered the _are you fucking kidding me_ look with almost expert precision.

Clint lifts his hands in a supplicating gesture. “Easy, killer. Just being polite.”

“Considering I’m likely the most well-rested person in the room,” Betty says, “I think I should be the one to handle all boiling liquids.”

“Just as well. ‘Tasha’d never let me live down getting burned by a tea-kettle.”

Betty smiles at that, giving the milk a stir before adding a generous mix of nutmeg, sugar, and cinnamon. “Your milk should be ready soon, Bucky.”

“You didn’t have to--” Now it’s his turn to get the look and he stops himself, offering her a charming smile. “Anyone ever tell you how pretty you are when you’re mad, doc?”

“Not nearly often enough.” She fires back, smiling. The kettle gives a whistle and she lifts it from the cooktop, setting it down and glancing at the clock. She frowns, looking genuinely displeased.

“Now that’s not a pretty expression.” Clint says. “Did the clock say something rude?”

She blinks, seemingly having forgotten her audience. “What? Oh, no, it’s just...late, is all.”

Clint and Bucky exchange a look.

“Tony doesn’t operate on a normal, human schedule.” Clint says. “And he as a bad habit of keeping anyone in the nearby vicinity of the lab captive.”

“Steve says he didn’t see Darcy for two days once.” Bucky adds. “I was surprised he hadn’t sent a search party down there to smoke them out.”

“Believe me, I’ve considered it.” Betty huffs.

As if on cue, the doors to the elevator open, revealing a similarly unhappy looking Pepper. “Good morning.” She says, wrapping her purple robe tighter around her as she steps closer.

“Mornin’, Miss Pepper.” Bucky says. “Somethin’ keeping you awake?”

“More like someone, James.” Pepper says, coming to stand at Betty’s side, peering down at the milk. “I assume you’re having a similar problem, Betty.”

“The very same.” Betty says, pouring three mugs of tea in one swoop, passing one to Clint, Pepper, and then herself. “Such is the price of dealing with two of the greatest scientific minds in the world.”

Pepper frowns, sipping her tea with sharp, angry motions. Bucky doesn’t think he’s ever seen her so flustered and judging by Clint’s fidgeting beside him, he’d guess the archer is thinking the same.

“Want me to go down and tell the kiddies it’s time for bed?” Clint offers. “I can take my bow, if you think it’d help.”

“No, thank you, Clint.” Pepper says, taking another sip of tea before setting the mug down. “I said I would give him until 3 AM and…” The clock, likely a relic of Howard’s, chimes then, a quiet _bong, bong, bong_ , and Pepper sighs. “Now I’ll go handle Tony.”

She walks to the elevator, steel in her spine, and Bucky whistles lowly. “I’ve never been so glad to not be Tony Stark in my life.”

“You can say _that_ again,” Clint agrees as the doors close, hiding Pepper’s stern face from sight. “I bet he’s going to be exiled to the lab for a week.”

“I say a month.” Betty says, primly sipping her tea. “This is the fourth time this week.”

“For being such a genius, Tony takes stupid to a whole new level.” Bucky adds. “If I had a dame like Miss Pepper, you can bet your ass I wouldn’t be spending all my time in a lab. Beakers haven’t got anything on a woman that loves you.”

Betty snorts, staring rather intently at her mug. “You’d think so.”

Clint clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable. Bucky blinks a few times, confused for a few seconds before it dawns on him.

“Oh...Jesus, Betty, don’t take it to heart, what the hell do I know, I’m only thinkin’ about Tony being an idiot is all.” He says, feeling absurdly flushed and guilty, _so guilty_ for reminding her of her own situation with her own strangely idiotic genius--

Betty laughs then, reaching over to give his hand another squeeze. “Bucky, it’s fine. Doctors can have a sense of humor too, you know.”

He scrubs the back of his neck anyways, still feeling vaguely anxious.

“Aw, look, you made him blush.” Clint says, breaking the tension. Bucky glares at him, because he has somewhat of a reputation to uphold, but he’s fairly certain the other man can read the relief behind the scowl.

Betty rolls her eyes, shaking her head at both of them, and finally slides a full mug of milk towards him. “Let me know if it tastes alright?”

It tastes better than alright, Bucky thinks; not quite what he remembers, but still warm, still comforting, and made by somebody who gives a damn about him. “It’s perfect.” He tells her, very gratified when Betty beams back at him.

“Mind if I take some to ‘Tasha?” Clint asks. “She doesn’t sleep any better than I do, but that looks like it could knock an elephant on its ass.”

Betty laughs again, rummaging around until she finds Natasha’s favorite mug--it’s got three lines on it, one near the top that says _shh_ , the next saying _almost_ , and the last line with _now you may speak_ near the bottom. Betty fills it to the top; Clint has the lightest walk of any of them, save Natasha, and it’s very unlikely that he’ll spill a drop on the way to his fellow spy’s room.

Clint’s just started to make his way to the stairs when the elevator bell beeps, indicating its arrival.

“That was quick.” Clint says, taking two steps back; there’s no telling what state Tony will be in when he appears and everyone in the Tower has learned not to get between the man and food when he’s forgotten to eat for over 24 hours.

“One of Pepper’s many superpowers is managing Tony.” Betty quips. “A skill few possess.”

The doors slide open to reveal an--if possible--more exasperated than usual looking Pepper, a very guilty looking Bruce, and a positively ashen Tony. He spares Clint a “hey, Legolas, nice jammies” before he all but skuttles into the room, dropping down on his knees before Betty.

“ _Tony_.” Comes both Pepper and Bruce’s voices.

“In a minute, in a minute.” He says, waving a hand at them before turning brown, sorrowful eyes on Betty.

That, Bucky thinks, is all Howard.

“Most wonderful and illustrious Dr.Ross,” Tony starts, and then frowns suddenly, “wait, no, I sound like Thunder-boy, hold on--ahem, dear Betty, I’d like to apologize for detaining your--”

“--if the word **lover**  so much as passes your lips, I’ll put anthrax in your tea.” Betty interrupts.

If possible, Tony’s eyes get wider. “--right, okay, um, dear Betty, I’d like to take full responsibility for keeping Bruce in the lab past his bedtime. He’s been trying to escape--rather valiantly, I might add--for the past two hours. Dum-E had to block the door. So, direct your righteous anger towards me. We can spar, duke it out, whatever you’d like--”

Another very irritated, “ _Tony_ ” comes from Bruce and Bucky muffles a snort into his hand.

“--okay, maybe not spar, but free lunch for a week? A shopping spree at Louboutin, my treat. Seriously. You name it, I’ll do it, just spare my science bro from your wrath, he really doesn’t deserve it. Cross my heart.”

Betty rolls her eyes, patting the top of Tony’s head. “I’ll hold you to that Louboutin part. Consider your apology accepted, although,” and then she smirks, giving his cheek a less than gentle pat, “I don’t think it’s my forgiveness you should be worried about.”

Tony grimaces. “Don’t I know it.” He clamors to his feet, giving Bucky a curious look, as if noticing him for the first time. “Since when do Tin Soldiers drink milk?”

Bucky doesn’t even get the chance to respond before Betty hits Tony with a dish towel. “Go to sleep, Mr. Stark. You don’t need to antagonize anyone else in the building.”

Nodding grimly, Tony hurries back to the elevator, clapping Bruce’s shoulder along the way. “You owe me one, Banner!”

“He wouldn’t be in any trouble if not for you.” Pepper says softly, all but pulling Tony the rest of the way into the elevator. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

The last thing they see before the doors close again is Tony’s face softening and Pepper reaching up to touch his cheek.

“Unbelievable.” Clint grumbles. “If I pulled a stunt like that, ‘Tasha’d skin me alive.”

“Some guys get all the luck.” Bruce mumbles, slowly walking towards the kitchen.

“I hope you’re including yourself in that number.” Betty says, smiling softly at him and reaching out to wrap an arm around his waist.

Bruce presses a kiss to the top of her head, closing his eyes as he leans against her. “Every day.”

Clint makes a very undignified noise and Bucky glares at him over his shoulder; the doc has earned her happiness, every bit of it, even if it is with arguably the most dangerous person in the whole damn Tower.

Clint opens his mouth to say something, but the door to the stairs swings open, revealing a very groggy looking Natasha. “Clint, how long does it take to get a cup of water?” She asks, padding over to stand beside him with her hands on her hips.

“Sorry, ‘Tasha, we were talking and then there was an issue with Tony--”

Natasha snorts, rolling her eyes. “There always is.”

Clint holds the mug of warm--well likely lukewarm, now--milk out towards her as a peace offering. “I got milk?”

Natasha quirks an eyebrow at him before peering around Clint and offering Bucky, Betty, and Bruce a slight smile. “I’m assuming one of you three made this, as most things Clint touches in the kitchen turn to ash.”

Clint gives an affronted, “Hey!” as Bucky and Bruce chuckle.

“Guilty, I’m afraid.” Betty answers. “There’s tea here too, if you’d prefer that, Natasha.”

“Milk’s fine, thanks.” Natasha answers. She turns blue eyes on Bucky, evaluating, curious. _“Are you alright, Yasha?”_ She asks in Russian.

Bucky nods; bits of their time together in the Red Room have come back with the rest of his memories, and Natalia will always be important to him, even if it’s not in the same way as before.

“Insomnia.” Is his response and she nods sympathetically; she understands his reluctance to sleep than anyone, even Steve.

“Tony would make millions if he used some of us for a sleep study.” Bruce says in his usual dry tone. “We’d single-handedly unravel every sleep deprivation theory; humans surviving on under 2 hours of sleep or less for months at a time.”

Betty frowns at that, turning to wrap both arms around Bruce. “Much as I’d like to send the scientific community into a tizzy, you’re getting some sleep tonight, Dr. Banner.”

Bruce smiles before dropping his forehead to Betty’s. “Yes, Dr. Ross.”

“We all should get some sleep.” Clint agrees. “You never know what horrible calamity could happen tomorrow.”

“More aliens invading New York?” Natasha offers.

“Worse than SHIELD turning out to be Hydra 2.0?”

“Steve doing something stupid in the name of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness?”

Bucky snorts at the last one. “That’s a given.”

They all move--albeit slowly--to tidy the kitchen, despite Betty’s insistence that she made the mess and she should be the one to clean it up. Eventually, Bucky bodily lifts her out of the way so Bruce can grab the pot of now tepid milk and Clint can handle the tea-kettle.

“Honey, just because you _can_ pick someone up,” Betty grumbles as he plops her down on a stool, “doesn’t mean you _should_.”

“I’ve never been one for fighting fair, doc.” He says, winking as he steps back to put the sugar, nutmeg, and cinnamon on their original shelves.

He thinks he hears Natasha give a muffled laugh at that, but he can’t be sure.

Finally, the kitchen is back to its original pristine state, so clean that it’s likely Steve and Sam won’t suspect it had been occupied just hours before their early morning run.

“And now, bed.” Clint says, sounding immensely delighted by the prospect.

“Mm.” Natasha hums, a mischievous smile warming her face. “Race you.”

Clint barely has time to respond before she’s bolted, running towards the stairs.

“Aw, no fair!” He cries, chasing after her.

Bucky shakes his head. “Children. I’m surrounded by children.”

“You get used to it after a while.” Bruce says.

Betty rolls her eyes at both of them, slipping one hand into Bruce’s and giving Bucky’s shoulder a push towards the elevator with her free one. “They have the right idea though. Bed, both of you.”

Bucky offers her a jaunty salute. “Yes, doc.”

Honestly, once the elevator doors have closed and it’s just the three of them, Bucky’s pretty grateful Natasha and Clint decided to take the stairs. He doesn’t want Natalia-- _Natasha_ \--as anything more than a friend and confidant, but he doesn’t think he’d be as comfortable with her holding Clint’s hands and sleepily nuzzling into his shoulder as he is watching Betty with Bruce.

Their stop is before his and Betty surprises him by letting go of Bruce’s hand long enough to stretch up and kiss his cheek. “Sleep well, Bucky.” She says warmly, stepping off.

Bruce laughs softly at his dumbfounded expression. “Betty doesn’t do things by halves.” He says by way of explanation.

“So I see.” Bucky says.

“And uh...thanks for keeping her company tonight.” Bruce says, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s not really one for solitude, either.”

“Anytime.” Bucky answers, meaning it. He likes Betty; there’s something about her that’s intrinsically honest, and after everything that’s happened, that’s something he appreciates in a person. “But between you and me? I think she’d rather spend time with you.”

Bruce flushes a little at that. “God knows why.”

“Hey,” Bucky says, having spent enough time with Steve--pre-serum Stevie, all knobby knees and thin skin and breath that rattled in his chest--to know self-depreciation when he hears it, “a dame like Betty knows her own mind. If you have the good fortune to have a girl like her--or Miss Pepper, or Natasha, or Darcy--frankly, you should thank your goddamn lucky stars and not try to figure out why.”

The shorter man smiles. “Why do I get the feeling you’ve used that speech before?”

“Because a bunch of goddamn punks live in this Tower and I’m apparently the only with the sense God gave a cat.” Bucky grumbles. “Now get off this damned elevator before I’m the one Betty’s directing her death glare at instead of Stark.”

Laughing again, Bruce nods, giving Bucky’s hand--his metal hand, something only Steve seems unperturbed by--a shake and stepping past the doors.

The doors slide shut again, but the silence doesn’t seen as oppressive as it did on the way down.

His bed is comfortable when he lays down, the taste of cinnamon lingering on his tongue, the warmth of the kitchen and the people in it--his friends, he’s pretty sure, wouldn’t Steve be proud--making sleep seem a much less daunting possibility.

Bucky may not be able to his Ma’s face, but he’s pretty sure she’d be pretty proud that her boy could give at least as much comfort as a mug of warm milk.

* * *

 


End file.
